


all the things we could have

by laeveleve



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Also some action, Canon Compliant, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Pre-Book 2: Wayward Son, goblins but not for sexy reasons, only a little angst tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29445651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laeveleve/pseuds/laeveleve
Summary: Baz takes Simon on their first date on Valentine’s Day, but it doesn’t turn out how either of them expect.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 64





	all the things we could have

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cynopoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynopoe/gifts).



> :) 
> 
> happy valentines

**14th February, 2016**

  
  


**_SIMON_ **

  
  


Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I have no idea what I’m doing. 

It’s February. Baz and I have been dating for two months, now, but we’ve never actually been on a real date before. That is, until _today_. 

I wasn’t expecting anything on Valentine’s Day. It’s not a huge thing in the World of Mages; more of a Normal celebration, really. (Penny says it’s all just a capitalist scheme to sell more chocolate and condoms, and I’ve never cared enough to develop any other opinions about it.)

So when Baz turned up at the Bunces’ front door earlier today, looking like a fucking dream in skinny jeans with an actual bouquet of flowers, I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.

I’ve never been _romanced_. 

I’ve been the _romance-r,_ but that’s different. And I was quite consistently fucking awful at it — most years I completely forgot, and Agatha would be in a bad mood all day despite claiming that she didn’t care whether or not I got her a gift. Valentine’s Day never made me feel happy or in love, it just made me feel _guilty_. 

But here was Baz — _Baz_ , with his hair loose the way I like it; in jeans that hug his footballers’ thighs, and a shirt only half-buttoned up his chest. 

I quickly lost the ability to speak English. 

Baz wasn’t at all fazed by me. He just tugged me out the door with his hand, kissed me soundly, and said, “Happy Valentine’s, love.” 

Then he swept me away in the Mercedes. For a _date_. 

Being in the car with Baz finally gave me a chance to catch up with what the fuck was actually going on. He’s never really made the first moves before — it’s always been me. But Baz has been so attentive, after what happened at Christmas. He texts me every day, lets me call him anytime I want, for however long I want. He makes sure I know that he’s _in_ , even now. 

Crowley, I’m a wreck, now. My therapist says I’m allowed to not be okay after everything that’s happened, that I should stop repressing things. But I’m actually starting to feel okay. Penny and I are planning to move to London in a few months, and Baz is talking about moving in with his aunt there too. It sounds nice — all three of us, in London and at Uni. Like I have something to hope for. 

I guess this is his way of making me feel cared for. I don’t hate it — I’m more scared that I’m going to fuck everything up. 

Then again, he’s taking me out for food. Crowley, now I want to kiss him again. 

We park up, and Baz takes my hand as I get out of the car to join him. He leads me to a restaurant I don’t recognise, and tells the waiter he’s made a booking under _Pitch_. 

The place seems pretty nice — fancy enough that Baz wouldn’t completely hate to be seen here, but casual enough that I won’t feel like I’m out of place in my jeans and t-shirt. (In my defence, I didn’t know I was coming.) The waiter sits us at a quiet, dimly lit table in the corner, and Baz offers me the corner seat. (He knows I like to sit where I have a view of the room; a result of years of combat training and looking over your shoulder.) 

I look over at Baz, ordering a bottle of red wine from the waiter. He really doesn’t look like a boy anymore — this is a _man_. And he’s… _mine_. Somehow. 

I tug on the collar of my t-shirt. I’m feeling a little sweaty.

As soon as the waiter has finally left us alone, I can’t resist the urge to reach out and brush back Baz’s hair. It’s long enough to touch his shoulders now, and he hasn’t slicked it back like he used to — it’s just a little wavy, and it’s far too tempting to run my fingers through it. 

Baz is watching me with a soft smile as I tuck the hair behind his ear. “I’ve missed you.” He says, and I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. He’s fucking beautiful, and I’m not sure what to do with all the emotions I’m feeling. 

_Fuck_ , I wish I was better with words. I could write him a fucking sonnet right now if I had a better grasp of the English language. “You too.” I breathe, much less poetically than I feel.

“How have you been?”

I shrug. “It’s nice being at the Bunces’. Nobody expects any heroism from me. And it’s good to have Penny.” 

It really has been good to have Penny. Neither of us are really ready to talk about everything yet, but she and Baz are the only two people who really understand what happened that night. It’s nice not to have to explain myself. And to not have to shoulder it alone, I guess.

I think the other Bunces just feel sorry for me. I try to avoid their pity, but there’s not a part of that house that’s quiet. I don’t tell Baz that part. I don’t want him to worry about me too much.

“And therapy?” He prompts.

“Alright.” I say, because I don’t know how to clarify further. 

Baz nods once, smiles a little tensely. Fuck, I have no idea what to say. 

Fortunately, the waiter reappears at that moment, pouring out two glasses of wine and then setting the bottle in the middle of the table. We both slightly awkwardly focus our attention on him, the poor sod, and avoid each other’s eyes as we order dinner. 

_Crowley_. I think this is all my fault. Baz is trying to make conversation, and I’m just... immediately killing it again. 

Baz orders lasagna. I order shepherd’s pie — after studying the menu like I was taking a fucking exam, I suppose I could have been more imaginative, but I’m too busy overthinking all of this.

I clear my throat, awkwardly. “So, uh… how’s school, now?”

Baz smiles at the table. “Weird, without you. Quiet.” 

I can only nod. “Yeah. I, uh… I see why.” 

By the time our dinner arrives, we’ve awkwardly fought our way through a couple more conversations — it’s feeling more and more tense by the second, and it’s completely my fault.

It’s frustrating how this happens to me, sometimes. How I can talk to Baz for hours on the phone one day, but now we’re finally together, for the first time in months, and I can’t think of a single word to say to him. I want to bang my head against the table. 

I watch Baz eat, hiding half his face beneath his hand. He looks as frustrated as I feel. In fact, he looks a little upset. And, _fuck_ — he’s been trying so hard to give us a good first date, on Valentine’s Day of all days. I clear my throat, and set down my cutlery.

“Baz.” I say, and he looks up, a little startled. “I, uh… wanna thank you. For this. I know I’m not good at this stuff, but I really appreciate it. And. You know. I appreciate you.” 

He shakes his head. “It’s alright, Simon. If this was too much—”

“No!” I interrupt, and I reach back over the table to take his hand. “Please, just…” I look up, and search the ceiling pattern for some godly dating guidance. “I like talking to you. And I like listening. So… tell me about your classes. Unload about all your assignments. About your eighth year spell.” 

Some of the conflict in Baz’s eyes dissipates, and he starts to talk. About everything — he doesn’t often unload like I sometimes do, but he tells me how lonely it is in Mummers’ without me, and how much he misses competing with Penny, and how he’s worried his father won’t accept his choice not to go to Oxford. It’s easier for me then, just to listen, to chime in when I feel like it. The pressure is off, and I feel myself easing up. 

The night gets easier. Not entirely breezy, but… I think we’re making progress.

Baz buys me dessert (I refused, initially, but he saw how my face lit up when the waiter mentioned that today’s special was crème brûlée), and then we pay up to leave. 

Out on the street again, in the cold February air, we head back in the direction of the car. Baz is telling me a story about the time when he was seven and his aunt Fiona took him to the zoo and promptly lost him, and I’m laughing, and it feels natural. 

I think, maybe, we’ll be alright after all. 

We turn down a side street. (Why did we park so far away, again?) It’s quiet, and dim — and I immediately notice that we’re not alone. 

I glance back over my shoulder. “Baz.” I mutter. “I think we’re being followed.” 

Baz’s eyes flicker, but he resists the temptation to turn his head and look. “How do you know?” He whispers. 

There’s three men following us. Pretty regular looking guys. Or maybe… 

We pass a parked car, and I focus on the reflection in the windscreen.

_Fuck_. Deep green skin, red mouth.

“Goblins.”

“Multiple?” Baz says. “Since when have goblins been smart enough to work in teams?”

“Since now, apparently.” This street still isn’t quiet enough. There’s a few shops open — quiet, and mostly empty, but we can’t risk it. “That alley up ahead. Turn in there.”

“You’re sure?” Baz says.

“Yes.” I hiss. “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.” 

He still looks uncertain, and I practically manoeuvre him by his shoulder into the alley. He turns toward me, to protest, and I continue walking him backward. “Trust me.” I whisper. He does, he always does — he lets me back him up, until his back is pressed against the brick wall. 

Baz’s eyes flick over my shoulder, and then he nods. “Okay.” He squeezes my arm. “I’m ready.” 

I grin, and then I press my mouth against his. 

I’m properly working open Baz’s mouth when I feel it — there’s someone standing behind me. Close enough, now. At the same time, Baz squeezes my hand again; twice, in quick succession. Now.

I swing around so fast that the goblin doesn’t see it coming — he really thought I was actually distracted. (I mean, it’s difficult not to be distracted by Baz, but I just about managed it.) 

One sharp punch to the goblin’s jaw, and it goes stumbling backward. Baz aims his wand over my shoulder and starts firing off spells — and we’re a fucking spectacle of a team. 

**“Off with your head!”** Baz yells, and the first goblin goes down like a sack of potatoes. The head rolls at my feet, and I kick it directly into the second one’s chest. 

The goblin takes a stumble — probably something to do with having his friend’s decapitated head booted at him — and I slash out with the pocket knife from my pocket. There’s a spray of blood, and Baz’s shout of “ **Fuck off and die!”** takes him down for good. 

The third goblin is either extremely brave or extremely fucking stupid, because he holds his ground against us. Has he not seen us fight? We’re fucking _brilliant._

I feel Baz at my shoulder. “I suggest you take your leave.” He says, and the goblin looks like he’s considering it for a second. I glance over; Baz is glaring from under his eyebrows, and his teeth are long and sharp. 

Apparently goblins aren’t very bright — he’s still coming. He takes a leap for me, and I catch his arms. Aim a knee to his stomach, just as Baz spells his head off. The separated body drops to the ground, and Baz and I catch each other’s eye. I almost want to laugh maniacally with all the energy I still have — we’re standing in a fucking alley, covered in blood, surrounded by dead goblins. 

We stare at each other for a moment, still recatching our breath.

And then I pounce. 

I practically dive over the last goblin’s body; I grab at Baz’s face, and he takes a hold of the back of my head — I shove him back against the wall and kiss him hard. I slide my fingers into his hair and tug, and he groans into my mouth, grabs at the back of my jacket. 

I’m working my way down from Baz’s mouth and billing at his jaw; he gasps a laugh into my ear. “You have a very unique perspective on romance, Simon Snow.” 

“I don’t see you complaining.” I breathe, in the process of sucking the slightest red mark into Baz’s throat. 

“Not complaining.” Baz’s head is tipped back against the wall. I think he’d normally be more concerned about how unhygienic this whole situation is, but we’re both amped up on adrenaline, and we’ve finally found an escape from our awkwardness all night. 

We kiss in that disgusting alley until our mouths hurt and we’re both freezing — Baz shivers in my hands, and I pull back to look at him properly. “Maybe we should go.” I say, in half a laugh. 

“Perhaps we should.” Baz is laughing too, and he’s so lovely I have to kiss him once more. 

“C’mon.” I say, before I can give into the temptation again. 

We magic away the evidence of our fight and clean ourselves up, and then I tug him back to the car. Baz hasn’t even started the engine before I’m leaning across the gearbox and kissing him again, more softly this time. 

“Thank you, again, for tonight.” I whisper, still leaning so close that I can feel his breath. 

“For dinner or for the goblin fight?”

I hum in thought. “Mm. I think both.” 

“Thought so.” Baz responds. “You’re welcome, for both.” 

I pull back, look him properly in the eyes. “Hey, sorry for being so weird earlier tonight. I was, uh… kind of hoping not to live up to my ‘terrible boyfriend’ label.” 

Baz shakes his head. “It’s alright, love. We’re both just learning how to do this. We’ll get there, together.” 

I nod, and press my forehead against his. “Yeah. We will.” Baz’s face breaks into a smile, and it’s so infectious I can’t help but smile back. “You know, if I have to learn this stuff with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.” 

He grins and laughs, a little teary-eyed. “ _Sap_.” 

“Maybe a little.” I press one final kiss to his sore mouth, and draw myself back to the passenger seat. “But only for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i’m a lovey dovey little bitch


End file.
